by Pamela Yaye
“Well, that’s about to change, because you’ve caught the eye of an up-and-coming director. I predict more great things in your future.”
“Thanks, Fallon,” she said, overcome with gratitude.
“The who’s who of the music world will be at next Friday’s shoot, so be your charming, lovable self, and network your ass off.”
“Next Friday? Why the rush?”
“Renegade is leaving for his South American tour at the end of the month, and the record label wants to get the video out fast to generate more buzz about his concert dates. I just emailed the contract to you, so read it, sign it and FedEx it back to me ASAP.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice. I’m on it!”
“Good, this is the big break you’ve been waiting for, so don’t mess it up. I’m counting on you, Jordana. Don’t let me down.”
Jordana ended the call, dropped her face in her hands and squealed. Finally! It wasn’t a movie role, but it was a paying gig and she was thrilled about working with the rap superstar. She’d met Renegade at the audition, and to her surprise—and relief—he was nothing like his public persona. He was polite, soft-spoken, and in many ways reminded her of Dante.
At the thought of him a smile overwhelmed her lips. It was hard to believe their two-month anniversary was tomorrow. That morning, as they were cuddling in bed, he’d invited her to Tampa to attend the RaShawn Bishop Charity Golf Tournament, When she’d teasingly reminded him it was a guys-only trip, he’d tenderly stroked her face, and said, “My brothers are going to kick my ass for breaking the rules, but that’s a beating I’ll gladly take. I love being with you, and I sleep better when you’re in my arms.”
Then he’d kissed her, which resulted in them making love for the second time.
His feelings mirrored her own and long after he’d left for work, she’d lain in bed thinking about what he’d said. He believed in her, was her biggest supporter, and as she dialed his cell number her pulse sped up. Dante answered his cell on the third ring, and Jordana could tell by the noise in the background that he was outside.
“Hey, babe, what’s up?” he greeted, his tone warm and jovial. “How was class today?”
“Dante, guess what! I’m going to be in Renegade’s music video!”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, and I’m so excited I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs!” Joy bubbled up inside her, and she laughed out loud. “I’m not the best dancer, but being in a music video sure beats doing another TV commercial.”
“Jordana, don’t do it. If you do, Hollywood will never take you seriously,” he warned. “You’ll be just another video girl with acting aspirations.”
“Well, I’m not, and to be honest I don’t care what anyone thinks.”
“Not even me?”
“Dante, where is this coming from? We talked about this, and you said you were cool with it.”
“Well, I’m not. I don’t want my wife shaking her ass in music videos.”
“Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed, stunned by his admission. “You’re jealous!”
“Jealous of a short, loudmouthed rapper? Hell no!”
“Then don’t rain on my parade. Be happy for me.”
“We’ll talk about this later. I’m on-site, and I don’t have time for idle chitchat.”
“Fine,” Jordana said tightly. She wished she could reach through the phone, and shake some sense into him, but she refused to let his negative energy ruin her moment, and spoke in a cheerful voice. “I’m making ribs for dinner, so don’t be late.”
“Get home safe, and tell Matteo I love him.”
Click.
His behavior confused her, and left Jordana scratching her head. Her mind flashed back to that morning. Eight hours ago he’d rocked her world, given her the best sex of her life, and now he was tearing her down. Don’t do it... Hollywood will never take you seriously... I don’t want my wife shaking her ass in music videos. What was up with that? Doesn’t he trust me? Doesn’t he know what this opportunity could do for my career? Does he even care?
Remembering her conversation with Fallon, her smile returned. Jordana wanted to call everyone she knew—her family, Waverly, her former colleagues at LA Marketing who said she’d never make it in the business—to share her good news, but she saw the time on the dashboard clock and hustled inside to pick up Matteo. He was standing in the hallway, staring off into space, and he didn’t respond when she called his name. “Hey, little man. How was your day?”
“Fine, I guess.”
Jordana glanced inside the classroom, filled with books, colorful paintings and drawings. She wanted to speak privately with Ms. Papadopoulos, but parents were lined up in front of her desk. Making a mental note to email her later, Jordana picked up Matteo’s backpack, slung it over her shoulder and took his hand. “How was school?” she asked, as they exited the building. “Did anything fun and exciting happen today?”
Matteo didn’t answer, kicked a rock across the tree-lined street instead.
“Buddy, is everything okay?”
Head bent, shoulders hunched, he stared wordlessly at his Batman-themed runners.
Jordana stopped, crouched down so they were eye-to-eye, and spoke in a soft, soothing tone of voice. “What is it, Matteo? You can talk to me.”
“I—I—I want my mommy,” he stammered, his bottom lip quivering uncontrollably. “Daddy said I’m a big boy, and big boys don’t cry, but I miss her...”
Her heart broke for him. Using her fingertips, Jordana wiped the tears dribbling down his cheeks. “Do you want to call your mom when you get home?”
“Daddy said I can’t. He said Mommy’s sick, and I can’t see her until she gets better.”
Jordana took her cell phone out of the front pocket of her jean jacket, and punched in her password. “Let’s call her now. I bet she misses you, too, and wants to hear your voice—”
“Mom!”
Matteo took off running, and Jordana scrambled to her feet, desperate to catch him before he ran out into the busy road. She turned around, just in time to see Matteo dive into Lourdes’s open arms. The slender blonde stumbled in her high heels, and Jordana feared they’d topple over into the bushes. They stood there, hugging each other for what felt like hours, and when she heard Matteo giggle, tears pricked her own eyes. Jordana didn’t want to hover, so she picked up his backpack, popped open the trunk and tossed it inside.
Hearing heels click-clack on the pavement, she turned to face Lourdes and smiled. They’d met a few times before, and on each occasion they’d chatted and laughed for hours about Matteo, their mutual love of vegan food, movies they wanted to see and celebrity gossip. “Hi, Lourdes. How have you been? It’s great to see you.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “It is?”
“Of course,” she said, raising her cell phone in the air. “As a matter of fact, Matteo was just telling me how much he missed you, and we were going to give you a ring.”
“You were?”
“Mommy, can you push me on the swings?” Matteo grabbed Lourdes’s arm and dragged her across the field, chatting excitedly about his preschool graduation and karate class. Jordana hung back, didn’t want to infringe on their private time together. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks, and Matteo was so excited to see his mom he couldn’t stop hugging and kissing her.
Remembering her earlier conversation with Fallon, she accessed the internet on her cell phone and checked her email. Jordana was so busy reading the music video contract she didn’t realize Lourdes was standing beside her until she felt a hand touch her shoulder. Jordana glanced up, searched the playground for Matteo, and sighed in relief when she found him sitting in the sandbox. Children raced around the field, and frazzled-looking nannies held their backpacks in one hand and cell phones in the other.
“How is Matteo doing? Is he happy with you guys in Bel Air?”
“Matteo’s doing great, but he misses you.”
“He does?”
Jordana studied Lourdes closely, wondered if she’d fallen off the wagon again because her questions were ludicrous. Dark circles lined her eyes, suggesting she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. But her yellow maxi dress was a perfect fit, and her hair, makeup and nails were immaculately done. “Yes, of course,” she said slowly, giving her a puzzled look. “You’re his mother, and he asks about you constantly. Why does that surprise you?”
“Because Dante said Matteo hates me.”
“Matteo loves you, and now that you’re out of rehab you can—”
“What makes you think I was in rehab?”
“You weren’t?”
“I want to go, but I can’t afford it,” she said quietly. “I asked Dante for a loan so I could go to the Destination Wellness Ranch in Rancho Park, but he refused.”
Her head throbbed, and it hurt to swallow. Realization dawned, and for the second time that day Jordana was speechless. Dante lied to me. He broke his promise.
“If you weren’t in rehab, then why haven’t you returned any of Matteo’s calls?”
“I lost my cell, but I gave Dante my new number weeks ago. He didn’t give it to you?”
Jordana felt sick to her stomach, feared she was going to lose her lunch. Her mind raced, tried to make sense of what Lourdes was saying.
“Dante must have routed the calls from the home phone to his cell because every time I call he picks up. I know there’s no way in hell he’s home by four o’clock.”
“Actually, he is. We take turns picking up Matteo from school, and he stopped working weekends so we can spend time together as a family.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. He never listened to me when we were married. Still doesn’t.” Sadness filled her face, and seeped into her tone. “He told the principal to call the police if I ever show up at the school, and since I didn’t want to embarrass Matteo I stayed away.”
Jordana couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Lourdes was lying. Had to be. Dante was a generous soul, a great father who’d never do anything to hurt his son, and she wasn’t going to badmouth him. Still, she sympathized with Lourdes, and wanted to help.
“I woke up this morning and said, ‘To hell with it. I’m going to go see my son,’ and I’m glad I did. I love Matteo. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring him back home.”
Confused, and unsure of what to believe, Jordana told herself not to take sides. This wasn’t her fight. Wasn’t her issue. She was lucky to be living in Dante’s mansion, was saving money like never before, and she remembered all of the kind, sweet things he’d done for her since their courthouse wedding. “What happened to your alimony settlement?” she asked, curious if what she’d heard about the former hairstylist was true. “Dante said you received a handsome check after the divorce—”
“I didn’t blow it on drugs and booze if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Then use that money to pay for rehab.”
“I wish I could, but there’s nothing left...”
Jordana offered a sympathetic ear. “What happened?”
“I paid down my debts, helped out my family and bought a high-end beauty salon in Orange County I’d hoped to manage.” Lourdes stared out at the sky, her expression pensive, her shoulders hunched in defeat. “I trusted the wrong people, and less than a year later I was broke. To ease the pain I started drinking and...things just spiraled out of control.”
Moved by her story, Jordana touched her shoulder and spoke from the heart.
“Matteo needs you, and if you don’t get sober he’ll grow up to resent you, or worse, hate you.” Jordana paused, allowing time for her words to sink in. “Rehab isn’t a quick fix, Lourdes. Neither is sobriety. It’s a lifelong process, and you’ll have to fight every day for the rest of your life to stay clean. But the rewards far outweigh the sacrifices.”
“I don’t know if I can do this alone. I have no one.”
“Lourdes, that isn’t true. You’re not alone. You have me and Matteo, and you’ll have the support of the counselors at the Destination Wellness Ranch, as well.”
Car horns blared, school buses rumbled down the street, and boisterous conversation and laughter flowed on the breeze.
“You can do this,” Jordana urged, willing her to be strong.
“You’re right. I can. I want to do this for my son, and I won’t let him down.”
“No,” she argued. “Don’t do it for Matteo. Do it for yourself. You’re worth it.”
Lourdes hugged her. Jordana felt her body shudder, heard her deep, racking sobs. She stroked her shoulders, and promised her everything would be okay. Talking to Lourdes dredged up bitter memories—memories from her past Jordana wished she could forget. She’d do anything to spare Matteo the pain she’d experienced as a child. Raised by an alcoholic mother and a distant father, she vividly remembered walking home from school every day, praying her parents weren’t fighting, but they always were.
“Thanks for being a positive influence on my son, and for the talk.”
Breaking free of her thoughts, Jordana nodded, and masked her grief with a smile.
“I know this sounds crazy, because we only met a few times, but I feel closer to you than my own sister. Chanelle doesn’t understand what I’m going through. But you do.”
“Unfortunately, I’ve had my fair share of struggles and setbacks. If not for a university counselor with a heart of gold, there’s no telling where I’d be today.”
“I know what I have to do.” Her tone was strong, filled with determination and resolve. “I don’t care what it takes. I’m going to get myself together and be a good mother to my son.”
“That’s the spirit, Lourdes!”
“It took losing custody of Matteo for me to see the errors of my ways, and I’ll never, ever do anything to jeopardize our relationship. He’s my heart, and I won’t live without him.”
“Can we go to McDonald’s? Please? I promise to be good...”
Lourdes pulled away, wiped her face with the back of her hands and kissed the top of Matteo’s head. “If it’s okay with Jordana, it’s okay with me.”
Jordana was in a precarious situation, knew her decision could put her at odds with Dante, but she had to do what was right for Matteo. He needed his mother, and seeing him happy was all mattered. Nodding, she laughed when he squealed for joy.
“Swing me!” Matteo clasped their hands and took off running down the street. He flew high in the air, and dissolved into giggles when his feet touched the ground. “Again!”
“You’re just like your father.” Smiling, Jordana leaned over, and ruffled his curls. “You’re not happy unless you’re calling the shots. Go figure!”
Chapter 17
“Dad, guess what? Mom played with me at the park after school, and she’s coming with us to the movies after dinner!”
Jordana entered the living room, saw Matteo jump into Dante’s lap and smiled at the adorable twosome. On the drive home, all he could talk about was his mom. His face was bright, he gestured wildly with his hands as he spoke, and his voice was full of enthusiasm.
Chef Thierry was busy in the kitchen, likely preparing a feast fit for a king. Sniffing the air, Jordana smelled chocolate-chip cookies, and hankered for a sweet treat. Her mouth watered, but she made up her mind not to eat any junk food. She was taping a music video in three days, and if she wanted to keep up with the other dancers she had to hit the gym hard, not devour Chef Thierry’s delicious baking.
“Slow down, Matteo. You’re talking so fast I can’t understand you.”
He giggled. “Sorry, Dad, I’m excited!”
“I can see that.” Dante
dropped his cell phone on the couch, lowered the volume on the TV with the universal remote and stared at his son. “Now, tell me, li’l man, what’s going on?”
“I’m going to the movies with Mom and Jordana tonight, and if I’m a good boy they promised to buy me popcorn, and chips and lots and lots of candy...”
Jordana didn’t recall ever saying such a thing, but she saw the color drain from Dante’s face and swallowed her objection. She was standing on the opposite side of the room, leaning comfortably against one of the reading chairs, but she could feel the anger radiating off Dante’s body, saw it billowing in the air like smoke. Her first inclination was to leave, to flee the room before he unleashed his wrath, but Jordana didn’t move. Why would she? She’d done nothing wrong, and she wouldn’t let Dante make her feel guilty for doing the right thing. Lourdes’s story—of Dante willfully and purposely shutting her out of Matteo’s life—was shocking, and the more she spoke, the harder it was for Jordana to refute it. She hoped her intuition was wrong, that it was all one big misunderstanding. But had decided to reserve judgment until she talked to Dante.
“Matteo, go upstairs and change out of your school uniform,” Dante instructed, rising to his feet. “After you clean your room I’ll take you for a bike ride.”
“You got it, Dad! Be back in a jiffy!”
But instead of going upstairs, Matteo skipped into the kitchen, climbed onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar and spoke in a hushed voice. Chef Thierry’s big, booming laugh filled the room, and Jordana knew Matteo was on the hunt for cookies. And he’d get them. The staff spoiled him, his uncle, too, and Jordana didn’t blame them. Like his father, he knew how to turn on the charm, and was impossible to resist.
“Jordana. In. My. Office. Now.”
Before she could respond, Dante grabbed her forearm, and steered her down the hallway, his leather dress shoes pounding violently on the gleaming floors. She kept silent, willed herself not to argue even though she was annoyed by his sharp tone.
Dante led her into the darkened office, dropped her arm and slammed the door so hard Jordana was surprised it didn’t fall off its hinges. It was a large space decorated in stone and steel furnishings, and the scrumptious white chairs and oversize couches invited rest and conversation. Her thoughts flashed back to the afternoon they’d made love on his desk, but she deleted the explicit images from her mind.
